


Defined Loneliness

by heihua



Series: Wants and Needs [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Light Angst, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 11:04:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8159933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heihua/pseuds/heihua
Summary: Noctis didn't know it could be so painful.





	

When Noctis is nine, he stops asking his father to pick him up and carry him because he notices the way Regis begins to stumble in his steps. He sees his father begin to walk slower, sees a lingering tiredness in his eyes when Regis leans down to kiss him goodnight and decides that he doesn’t need hugs or bedtime kisses anymore.

He doesn’t ask for them anymore, stops asking to hold his father’s hand on the rare occasions they do go out together.

He is afraid of his father wearing away so he stops.

 

 

 

When Noctis is eleven, Ignis stops being able to find time to read to him. The grand epics of the old kings of Lucis that Ignis dutifully recites as Noctis leans against him, arm pressed against arm are replaced by a busier Ignis who spends longer hours in the library or in meetings and less time in the study with Noctis. Noctis sees the same tiredness begin to creep into Ignis’ eyes, notices the small fumble of Ignis’ hands when he flips through the story book’s pages and tells Ignis he doesn’t need bedtime stories anymore.

Ignis is surprised, but concedes and grows ever busier, swallowed by politics and lessons and duty.

Noctis pretends not to notice the growing silence of his study and the coldness that lingers on his skin.

 

 

 

When Noctis is thirteen, he begins to self-train instead of sparring with Gladiolus.

Gladiolus questions the change of heart but praises him on taking initiative, for once.

“Guess you found something to get your lazy butt moving,” Gladiolus teases and Noctis grumpily punches him in the shoulder to try and shut him up.

Noctis doesn’t tell Gladiolus that he wants to spar less because he doesn’t want to see the same tiredness enter Gladiolus’ eyes as well. Gladiolus already has his royal duties and his younger sister to care for and Noctis is already competent enough to handle some self-training; he doesn’t always need a teacher by his side.

He tells himself he doesn’t need the hand that musses his hair after a session well done or the encouraging pat on his shoulder when he fails to counter properly.

He tells himself he doesn't need any of it.

 

 

 

Noctis is fifteen when he properly meets Prompto.

Prompto slaps him on the shoulder, hair mussed from running, a wide grin on his face as he greets the crowned prince of Lucis.

And Noctis will never forget the sting against his shoulder blade, the warmth that lingers there like a small sunbeam against his skin, as he slaps Prompto back, solidifying their friendship for years to come.

He doesn’t understand why, but his heart swells and beats and there is something in his chest that lingers, something old and almost forgotten but fond.

He doesn’t know what the feeling is, but he doesn’t want to let it go.

 

 

 

A year later, Noctis understands.

In-between every bump of shoulders on their walks home, every pat on the back in the mornings and every arm around him as they sit together studying, realization comes to him slowly but surely.

He understands now, why the world doesn’t feel as distant, doesn’t feel as draining when Prompto laughs with him over a comic, their thighs pressed together as they read the pages together. He understands and remembers _touch_ and _affection_ and above all, _warmth._

Noctis can now count the last time he has been touched not in years and months but in hours, in minutes—sometimes even _seconds—_ and he has never felt so giddy, so overwhelmed.

He cries, in a mix of joy, relief and pained loneliness when Prompto hugs him for the first time.

Alarmed, Prompto immediately begins to pull away but Noctis tugs him back, arms wrapped firmly around Prompto’s waist.

“No, ‘s okay, really,” he mumbles through tears and his voice muffled against Prompto’s shoulder.

“I’m not hurting you?” Prompto asks, anxious and still a little hesitant to put his arms around Noctis’ shoulders.

“No,” Noctis assures him. He sniffles, presses a little closer to Prompto. “Can we stay like this? Just for a bit.”

“Noct,” Prompto whispers, voice so strained and sad as the pieces click together and he also begins to understand. “When was the last time someone hugged you?”

Noctis shifts, curls tighter against Prompto. “I don’t know,” he whispers. “I don’t remember.”

Wordlessly, Prompto’s arms wrap around his shoulders. Noctis’ side is flush against his chest, dark hair tickling the bottom of his chin and Prompto reaches around to rub his palm up and down Noctis’ back. Noctis sighs, so quiet and content and Prompto has to swallow the sadness that would clog his throat and has it rest as a dull ache in his chest instead.

They stay that way, for a long, long time.

 

 

 

“You don’t ever have to ask,” Prompto tells him, several days later. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be touched.”

Noctis’ lips tilt downwards, bitter and pained. “I don’t want to burden you. Or them.”

Prompto reaches out, palm brushing against palm. “It’ll never be a burden. Not for me and not for them.”

“Never?”

“Never,” Prompto promises.

 

 

 

The Kingdom of Lucis has fallen and with it, Regis.

Noctis will never have his father’s steady hand against his shoulder anymore, never have his father’s hand reach out to touch his arm to welcome him home and he nearly suffocates, grief wrapping cruel fingers around his throat.

But Gladiolus wraps an arm around his shoulder while he musses his hair, Prompto laughs and collides with him, limbs splayed all throughout Noctis’ personal space, Ignis keeps him steady and grounded with a warm palm against his back and Noctis begins to breathe again.

He’ll be okay.

This, he knows.

**Author's Note:**

> please consider.....touch-starved Noctis.......


End file.
